Page 30 of Saved By Two

“Then prove it and come for me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

With a roar, he throws his head back as he erupts between us, his cum coating us both. And then I finally give in, chasing my release, my cock thickening as I continue to thrust, not relinquishing my hold on Noah as I drag every last drop from him. Fountains of my cum join his as I move even faster, panting and hissing through the powerful release. He twitches in my grip as I spasm the last of my semen, covering my stomach and hand, mixing with his arousal.

“Fuck, I love you,” he gasps out, catching his breath.

“Fuck, I love you,” I say, my breathing ragged as he looks up at me through heavy lashes.

“Not as much as I love you,” he replies.

His entire face is relaxed and sated as he gives me one of his killer smiles, both his dimples prominent, his eyes piercing as he stares back at me. The look alone is one filled with adoration and love.

I brush my lips against his, the kiss gentle and tender, contradicting the savage need that consumed us only moments before.

We need to clean up, but for now, I’m content in this embrace, savouring that he isindeedmine.

ChapterFifteen

NOAH

It’s been almost a week since Jessica’s life turned upside down. Apart from her first night here when she woke screaming and had a panic attack, she’s been quiet. Honestly, too quiet.

She naps throughout the day, which Mitchell said is perfectly understandable under the circumstances, but still, the silence bothers me the most.

Some days she’ll come out of her room for lunch, but for the most part, she stays in her room. The only meal we manage to get her to join us for every day is dinner. Maggie has been by three times this week, clearly concerned for Jessica’s well-being. We’re doing our best to be here for her, but Caleb is just as worried about her silence as I am. She says her pleases and thank yous and replies to conversations at the correct intervals, but she’s so removed from herself that it’s making our concern for her heighten.

After the first two days, her bruises transformed into blue, purple, and purplish-black—so angry in colour that they were even more alarming than how they appeared upon her arrival. Caleb gave her some arnica salve to help, and I think it did. They’re much less prominent than a few days ago, now turning yellow and green. Her wrist seems a lot better. She’s not favouring the other hand as much, but it’s clear her ribs still cause pain and discomfort.

I find myself watching her. She still avoids making eye contact for too long and tries to shrink herself down in size, her shoulders hunched. The more we see a shell of the young woman we first met, the angrier we’re both becoming. We try our best to keep this away from her, but I’m sure she must pick up on the growing tension. Caleb prides himself on communication in all aspects of his life, so I know this is a lot harder for him, but we’re also trying to be as respectful to her needs and healing as possible. I just worry that, mentally and emotionally, she’s not healing at all.

“Hey, sweet girl, how are you feeling?” I ask when she emerges from her room wearing one of my shirts. It wasn’t long before we realised her essentials consisted of the bare minimum. It is not lost on me how, apart from the framed photo she now has on her bedside table, she still keeps her bag at the foot of her bed like she’s ready to flee at any moment.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thank you.” It’s a monotone response, one lacking emotion, but sadly one we’re becoming accustomed to, but still, it’s better than complete silence.

“It’s a nice day. Did you want to eat outside?”

Her body stiffens at my suggestion.

I reach out and pause, waiting for her reaction, and then I softly touch her shoulder. “Just on the roof garden terrace,” I add for clarity.

I realise in the week she has been here, she’s only been in her room, the kitchen, or the living room. At least the skylights from the kitchen give some natural light with it being on the lower floor, and she’s at least not completely closed off to daylight even while she’s closed off to the outside world.

It’s why we’re so desperate to find out why we’ve been unable to track down Mason. Whatever he’s doing must be a top-level secret. But hearing from him, knowing he’s okay, will give her the boost she needs.

She twists her hands in front of her and looks away. “Yeah, if that's what you want to do,” she replies.

I almost let out a sigh. “Only if you’d like to, no pressure. I just thought you might have a touch of cabin fever, and the fresh air would do you good.”

Her gaze lifts to mine for a moment, and I notice the moment her posture relaxes.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

I smile as I turn towards the kitchen, the sound of her feet padding softly behind me. I noticed how the first few days, she almost always walked on tiptoes, literally. But she’s been doing that a little less; maybe it's from always walking around on literal eggshells around her pathetic excuse of an ex. At this point, any progress is better than no progress.

“I hope you like macaroni and cheese. Maggie brought her homemade one, and it’s delicious.”

Using the oven gloves, I remove the casserole dish from the oven and place it on the counter. Peering over my shoulder, I notice a small smile grace her lips. “I do. Two of my favourite food groups. Cheese and pasta.” As soon as the words leave her lips, her mouth turns into a straight line, like she can’t believe she said that out of the blue.

I turn to face her, slipping off the gloves. “That's good to know. I can’t wait for you to try this,” I say, pulling out two dishes and spooning out two generous servings.

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